String Theory
by Scribere Est Agere
Summary: It's not theoretical physics, Eames. It's just sex. A Law & Order 100 Plus Challenge: Denial.


**Title:** String Theory  
**Author:** Scribere Est Agere  
**Pairing:** Goren/Eames  
**Rating:** M  
**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me.

**Summary:** It's not theoretical physics, Eames. It's just sex.

_For the Law & Order 100 Plus Challenge: Denial_

/

There were, she learned much too late, certain guidelines that a person needed to set and follow should that person ever decide to sleep with her partner.

For example: When sleeping with your partner solely as a "stress reliever" be sure to not fall asleep after the "stress" had been "relieved" with your head on your partner's chest and one leg thrown carelessly over his.

For example: When sleeping with your partner to help "prove a point" that two people can have sex without "getting emotionally attached" make damn sure you're not "emotionally attached" before you even take off your shirt.

For example: When sleeping with your partner, when being in such close, intimate physical proximity for any length of time could lead to being in love with your partner, being in love with said partner _before_ sleeping with him was definitely not advisable.

Very good, very useful guidelines, most of which she completely fucked up before she even took off her shirt.

/

The first time was a mistake, granted. A great, big sloppy, achingly messy, wonderful and enthralling mistake.

The second time was also a mistake. Not quite as messy, but still a mistake. And still wonderful. And enthralling.

The third, fourth and fifth times were, well, they were dangerous and they both knew they needed to give it up, give it all up, turn back, put on the brakes and come to a halting skidding stop before someone got hurt.

But by then it was too late.

/

She'd started crying and she never cried, at least never in front of him. The husband had killed his wife and their five-year-old child, then tried to shift blame to the supposed boyfriend. Eames had been all right, had been dealing admirably and acting professionally until the wife's autopsy reports came back: she'd been eight weeks pregnant.

Bobby had stopped by her apartment with the reports and an "exciting" new theory about what had driven the husband to do what he'd done. He was pacing in front of her as she sat on her couch, clutching the papers in silence. He finally dropped down beside her, still talking, still gesturing, when he finally noticed the tears.

"Are you…are you all right?"

She dropped the papers on the coffee table, closed her eyes and kept crying because she didn't know what else to do. Getting up and moving away required too much effort and would seem too dramatic, so she just sat and cried and he watched her.

Then he touched her, which he never did but he couldn't just sit and watch her _cry_. She was breaking his _heart_, for god's sakes.

"Eames…"

She shook her head vehemently, put her hands over her face. She wasn't embarrassed, exactly; she just couldn't stop crying and it was kind of annoying. She was starting to make a hitching noise in her chest when he put his arms around her and pulled her to him. It felt good and he wondered why he'd never done it before. They sat that way for a good ten minutes until her tears tapered off and she sniffed and made a movement to sit up. She smiled a watery smile at him and it did him in. One hand found her cheek and the other the soft curve of her neck and he leaned down and kissed her, simple as that. He'd meant it as a friendly kiss, if there was such a thing, a sort of _Sorry you're sad I wish I could help you_ kiss, but of course as soon as his lips touched hers something radical happened. Something unexpected. She kissed him back, immediately, no hesitation, even leaned into it a bit.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and kept kissing her, exploring the shape and contour of her lips, her mouth and shivered when her hands pulled his shirt free from his pants and slid up his chest.

_What the hell?_

"Come on…" she said then, tugging on his arms.

"Where?"

"Well, I don't really want to have sex on my living room couch," she said against his mouth. Bobby froze, his hands hovering near her breasts.

"Who said anything about having…sex?" he said.

"I did. Just now."

He smiled. She smiled back.

And that's how it happened.

/

"This could be a good thing," he said sometime later.

"What's that?"

"This. Doing this. Could be a good thing."

"You mean on a regular basis?"

"Yeah…why not?"

"Uh…that could get…complicated."

"We don't have to let it get complicated."

_Smug bastard_, she thought.

"People can't just have sex and not have it mean anything, Bobby. It doesn't work that way."

"Sure they can. Sure it does. Happens all the time."

_Not to me_, she thought.

"It's good exercise, and an excellent stress reliever."

"Yeah…I'd forgotten how…physical…it can be." She looked at him, lying next to her. "It's also emotional, though. Very emotional."

He nodded. "But only if you over think it."

"Over think it."

"It's not theoretical physics, Eames." He grinned at her. "It's just…sex."

_Not with us,_ she thought.

"Right," she said instead. "Just sex."

/

Once, twice a week, sometimes more, they met in her apartment, always hers, and in the beginning it was Just Sex. No preamble, no wine, no dinner. Straight to the bedroom, each taking off their own clothes. No romance, no spooning afterward. Just a blessed physical release that they both welcomed and had both missed more than they realized.

No over thinking, she told herself when they were finished and he was getting dressed to leave. Just sex, nothing else.

"See you tomorrow," she'd say.

"Tomorrow," he'd reply, then leave.

Sometimes, though, she caught him looking at her with an expression she could not name, not just afterwards, but before and during, too. He'd be kissing her shoulder, her collarbone with a gentle tenderness that left her breathless and made her realize she was forever spoiled by Bobby's mouth, his hands, and the things they could do to her. She'd open her eyes and there'd he be, watching her, watching her.

"What..." she'd say, but then the look was gone and he would smile a little.

"Nothing," he'd say. "No strings attached, Eames, right?"

"So you keep telling me."

/

"So…what are you doing tonight?"

"Uh…" She glanced at her desk calendar even though she already knew exactly what day it was and exactly what she would be doing and with whom in exactly four hours. "I…have a date, actually."

"A date."

She nodded.

"A date…with…a man?"

She kept nodding.

"I don't understand." And, looking at him, she could see he didn't.

"Hey…" She leaned towards him. He leaned towards her. "It's not theoretical physics, right?"

"…right."

She leaned forward even further. So did he. She spoke quietly but he heard every single word.

"No strings attached, right?" She tried to smile but it didn't feel good, like her lips were full of Novocain. "That's what you said, right?"

He nodded. His throat worked under his shirt collar.

"No strings attached. That's what I said. Right, Eames."

She sat back. He did too. Then he slammed his desk drawer shut so hard that several people looked.

/

And she did have a date. Her brother-in-law's best friend Gary — a banker — who was very nice and very polite and mildly bright and exceedingly dull. The four of them had a lovely dinner at an expensive restaurant and chatted about celebrities and politics and sports and Eames had never been so bored in her life.

"He's nice, huh?" Her sister nudged her as they walked out, her eyes bright. Alex shrugged noncommittally but her sister seemed content to leave it at that for the time being.

Gary walked her to her door and kissed her cheek chastely. Alex bit the inside of her lip hard to keep from smirking.

"I had a nice time," he said. "I'd like to see you again." Alex said neither yes nor no and Gary smiled and seemed content with that, for the time being. She escaped into her apartment and leaned against the locked door, wondering how on earth her sister managed to talk her into things like that.

She undressed and made tea and got into bed. She was just starting to relax when her phone rang. She grinned.

"Am I interrupting anything?"

"Besides my sleep cycle, you mean?"

"I…just wanted to make sure you got home all right."

"I did. Thanks."

"So…did you…"

"Have a nice time? I did. Gary was…nice."

"Gary."

"Yes."

"He was nice."

"He was."

"So…did you…" She heard him swallow. "I mean, he's not…_there_, is he? I mean, did you…"

She waited. She was going to make him say it.

"Did I what?"

"With…_Gary_. Did you…sleep with him?"

"Did I sleep with him?"

"_Yes._"

"Why on earth do you need to know this?"

"I don't. I'm just…curious."

"It's kind of a rude question. And rather personal, don't you think?"

"Eames."

"No, Bobby, I did not." She could almost hear him grinning. No fucking strings, indeed.

Silence.

"Is that all, Bobby?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Okay."

"Good night, Eames."

"Night, Bobby."

/

But of course it couldn't go on that way, had maybe never been Just Sex at all, even at the start.

"We can't keep doing this." She spoke into her pillow and her voice was muffled.

"What?"

"What? Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes." He'd heard and a small prickle of panic was working its way up his spine. "We can't keep doing…what?"

"This…this sleeping together thing."

"Why?"

"It's just…getting complicated."

"How so?"

"It just is."

"I don't think it is," he lied.

She pushed her face down harder into her pillow, feeling small wet spots where her tears absorbed.

"Trust me. It's getting complicated."

/

She had him pinned against her headboard, kissing him frantically, her bare breasts pressed against his bare chest. His hands were tangled in her hair so tight it hurt but she didn't tell him to stop. She didn't say a word, actually. She fumbled with his belt, his pants, worked them down over his hips. He did the same to her until it was finally skin on skin. She mounted him there, quickly, completely and he groaned against her mouth because she started moving with a speed and delicate agility that startled him. He moved his hand from her hair to her back, pulling her against him as tightly as he could and still give her room to _move_. And the _way_ she was moving, ah god— He threw his head back suddenly, hitting it hard against the wall but she wasn't going to stop now and he could feel everything, every part of her and the heat and the friction and he could tell she was getting close, closer. She wasn't going to make a sound, though, not this time, and she bit down hard on her own lip, then on his, which made him gasp and then she stopped, trembled, clutched his shoulders, expelled a long breath of air and let her head fall forward. No, no. Not yet. He shifted slightly and started his own movements, hard, fast, urgent, a hand on each of her hips until he was panting with the effort and he came and he never took his eyes off her and he held onto her tight, tighter as if he'd never let go again.

/

"I can't do this anymore." He spoke against her shoulder. She could feel his breath fanning there.

"Do what?"

He cleared his throat.

"This…this just sleeping with you."

"Oh." She pulled the sheet up to her neck and shifted just a little, making sure no part of her body was in any contact with any part of his body. "Okay."

It suddenly got very quiet and very loud in the room at the same time. There was a long pause. She felt his steady gaze on her.

"Really? That's…really okay with you?"

She shrugged, one-shoulder.

"Well, I'm not about to _force_ you to have sex with me if you don't want—"

"That's _not_ what I meant, god Eames—"

She sighed. She looked at him. He was staring at the ceiling.

"Can I ask you why—"

"Because I'm in love with you, that's why. Okay?"

She almost started laughing. She felt she might float away. She felt like her head might explode.

"You can't have sex with me because you're in love with me—"

"You know what I mean," he said quietly.

She stopped talking and started nodding because she knew exactly what he meant, had known for a long time, and now he knew, too, had known for a long time, too, possibly. She'd probably never know for sure.

"You're in love with me," she said again, just to hear the words out loud.

"_Yes._"

"That kind of makes what we're doing…complicated."

He sighed.

"But, I'm okay with that part," she said.

"Me, too."

He kissed her, then kissed her again, and again.

"Theoretical physics," she said against his mouth.

"Sometimes…once in awhile…I don't have a fucking clue what I'm talking about."

/

There were, she learned much too late, certain guidelines that a person needed to set and follow should that person ever decide to sleep with her partner.

Strings, and more strings.

/

_Fin_


End file.
